


Burning again

by RoseMeister



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Bed-sharing, F/F, Mara thinks too much, not so much pre-relationship as the grey area inbetween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 03:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17113697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseMeister/pseuds/RoseMeister
Summary: This night is too cold, she thinks, too dark and far too full of old ghosts.Something shifts between them





	Burning again

Will Petra still love her when all this is done, Mara wonders. She has plans, plans entwined with backup plans, until she is half-assured that she has things in control. Half-assured, at least. Such things cannot be relied upon, and even after everything she’s almost convinced it will all tumble down upon their heads, and centuries of work will be undone for nothing.

She glances out at where her quarters link up to those of the Queen’s Wrath. Now that’s an ancient relic, really, something she had ordered done in the old days, for Sjur, back in those half-forgotten times before they took each other as lovers, just burnt in the unspoken tension between them. These days, she wonders all too often why they hesitated so long.

If Mara had known their time together was finite, she may just have kissed her the first time she set eyes on her.

For all the things she balances in her mind, considers and dissects, the one thing she never dwells on is whether she is repeating that same mistake once more. For all the power at her fingertips, the endless mysteries that drown her conscious mind, she cannot know for sure what will happen to Petra, in the end. Perhaps she too will be stolen from her too soon, perhaps even before they truly touch. Or maybe Mara will make some awful misstep, and drive her most loyal ally from her side. She almost can’t tell which is worse. Feels so quietly, awfully cruel in that tiny moment when she admits to herself that she’d almost rather see Petra dead than despise her.

This night is too cold, she thinks, too dark and far too full of old ghosts.

She knocks, almost too quiet to hear, on the door between their chambers. Tries to forget the memories of when that door never shut, when the Wrath’s bedsheets were never changed because they were never used.

Still, the door opens all too soon. Mara knows too much of the universe, but even she can’t quite tell if Petra hears because she was already awake, or if the decades of fighting have made her a light sleeper, alert to the slightest noise. Curiosity sparks, starts a fire in the pit of her stomach that she can’t quite ignore, but she doesn’t ask.

“Mara.” Petra says, voice soft in the late-night air. This far into the Reef, time is immaterial, and trying to guess it from sight alone would only lead to it slipping through fingers like water. But she can feel the late hour still, somewhere deep. It makes her want to be honest, or if nothing else, to just not lie. To cut closer to reality than is usually wise. That brash choice of words from Petra makes her think she feels it too.

“Are you busy?” There’s something approaching a smile twitching at the edges of Petra’s lips, and Mara wants to pretend she’s strong enough to not linger on the sight. Strong enough to stay professional, to pretend she doesn’t notice any of Petra’s more obvious tells.

“Not for you.” It’s sweet really, a rhythm of her voice that carries that undercurrent of something else, and Mara knows she could ask for more than even duty would dictate, and be allowed in. It’s a slow dance, slow enough that Mara doesn’t quite know if they are moving closer or remaining at a steady orbit. Harder still to know when she doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to admit to not knowing.

Maybe there’s some blend of words, hovering in the back of her mind, waiting for Mara to grasp them. Some elegant flow to match all those appearances, something almost cold and distant, to keep whatever barrier still remains between them solid. But she can’t find them, not now, not tonight. Not at this hour, not after all the time spent obsessing over past mistakes.

All that remains is inelegant bravery.

“Do you mind if I stay with you tonight?”

Petra is far too easy to read, a warrior wearing her emotions far too clear on her face to hide from a woman with centuries of experience in politics. Mara thinks she likes it, enjoys seeing her eye widen, her neck creeping a colour approaching purple. It’s a far cry from the lies and hidden motives she knows too well. And it’s charming, really, in that quiet sort of way that Mara probably shouldn’t dwell on.

“Of course.”

The games, the observations, make for good distractions in the end. Switches her focus away from whether she should ask so much, whether this alone is putting their entire relationship at risk for her own selfish desires. Whichever it is, Petra lets her into her space, doesn’t so much lead her to her own bed as gesture towards it, uncertain until Mara’s touch is on her hand, until Mara begins to lead her towards it. Needy or selfish? Who can tell anymore.

The quiet breeds more honesty, makes her pause. “Do I push you too far? Risk burning everything we have for a shred of warmth?”

“You couldn’t push me away.” Petra says, lightly, simply. Slices through her words where Mara would dance. But where does her loyalty truly lie, with the ideal of Mara or the woman herself? Mara knows the answer. Somehow, it’s almost terrifying to know.

“I don’t want to be alone.” Mara says, shockingly honest in turn. “Not tonight.” She doesn’t want to beg, has enough respect for her own sense of dignity to avoid doing that. But still she wants, so intensely. Enough to hope Petra hears her unspoken words.

Petra wraps her arms around her, loosely, only tightening them when Mara leans back into her. She isn’t quite sure when that small boundary between them was crossed, and truthfully, she’s not quite sure why she ever cared, why she let formality and endless planning drive a wedge between her and a woman with honest words and gentle arms.

Petra burns the night less cold with her touch. Time erodes that initial hesitancy, until Mara’s head is tucked under her chin, until she can feel Petra’s breath against her hair. Even when sleep steals Petra once more, the touch remains, and she holds Mara like something precious.

They don’t talk about it, not now, and certainly not in the morning. But here at least, in that almost anxious silence, Mara dreams, and puts all her plans on hold for long enough to breathe.

After that, the door between them stays open.

**Author's Note:**

> this is like... super self-indulgent, but i just rly like mara  
> i have a [tumblr](http://octopusdragon.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to say hi!


End file.
